


Event Horizon

by starkercrossedlovers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alien Planet, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crash Landing, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkercrossedlovers/pseuds/starkercrossedlovers
Summary: Steve and Peter crash land on a foreign planet after escaping Thanos and Titan. They spend weeks and months surviving and living alongside each other before their friendship changes and deepens.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 276





	Event Horizon

The planet looks abandoned—but Peter can’t be sure because the display on the drop ship is only showing their rapid descent towards the surface, screaming alerts in an alien language that he can’t understand—but the smoke pouring from the rear engine he understands.

They’re going to crash— _hard_.

“Cap, I need your help,” he calls, glancing over his shoulder to where Captain America— _just Steve is fine kid_ he’d been told _—_ has beentrying to get their comms working.

The older man nods, brow worried as he jogs over. “What do you need me to do?” he asks, cowl pulled back so his bright blue eyes and shaggy blonde locks are visible.

Peter points to the other control with his chin, knuckles white where he’s pulling back on the control shaft with all his strength, bones shuddering against the drag of the ship.

“Pull up as hard as you can,” he orders through gritted teeth, sweat sliding down his neck as Steve steps up next to him with a decisive nod. He can feel the change in the angle of their descent as Steve applies his strength, the juddering of the ship grows more pronounced as they break through the atmosphere, clouds flying past as they fall and fall and fall.

“We’re gonna crash,” he grits out, “but if we can keep the nose up, we’ll make it.”

Steve nods and Peter can see the strain in his neck and around his eyes as he braces himself and pulls back harder.

A high pitched whine fills the air and Peter’s eyes widen as the surface of the planet becomes clearer. Glowing iridescent seas are shining in the starlight, and in the gloom Peter thinks he sees mountains and lush forests—a jungle maybe.

The surface rushes up at them as the whine grows louder, sharp and piercing against his amped up senses and he can hear the second engine burst into flames which is both bad and good—bad because the ship is deteriorating faster than he’d expected, and good because fire means oxygen which means he and Steve will be able to survive the surface.

If they survive the crash.

The ship’s HUD is reading out statistics on the planet and their angle of descent, a number flashing in bright red and he’s pretty sure it means they’re not going to make it.

Terror clenches his guts and he risks a look over at Steve, noting the fear there in the lines of his mouth. He can see fine tremors running over the larger man’s body and knows the strain of keeping the ship on course is hurting him—because it’s hurting Peter too.

“Cap, we have to pull up harder. We need another three degrees off the incline or we’re going to die.”

Steve stares at him for a moment and then sets his jaw in determination. He turns his head and stares out the windows as their fate rushes up to meet them and with a great heaving inhale, he pulls until he feels his muscles threatening to tear, feels the vibrations deep in his bones and he can’t help the scream that echoes out as pain rips through him.

Peter cries silently as he throws his head back and pulls just as hard, chest heaving under the strain, lungs burning with each breath and heart stuttering, his body failing under the assault.

He hears Steve cry out his name as his vision goes black and then an enormous shuddering crash sends him sprawling to the ground, head smacking into the steel with a sick sound and then….

Nothing

—————

Steve peers out at the planet from his perch on a cliff side overlooking the beach they’ve crashed onto. His shield is a comforting weight on his arm, a steadying presence in this odd new world. It had been obvious last night that the ocean glowed, but in the daylight it’s not as apparent, more of a gentle fluorescence; gold in color and oddly scented, like honey.

He’d determined from the drop ship’s HUD that the planet they were on was viable for life, and after traversing through the jungle, he’s seen no evidence of human or alien life, but plenty of wildlife.

That’s good, he thinks. They’ll be able to survive here—wherever _here_ is—until they figure out a way to get home.

_Home_

He thinks longingly of New York, Bucky, pizza, the sound of traffic and the smell of the city and then shakes himself—he doesn’t have time to reminisce, he has to finish this scouting trip and get back to Peter.

He frowns as he thinks of the younger hero; Peter had hit his head hard during the crash and the strain of keeping the ship together had taken its toll on his body—he still hasn’t woken this morning and Steve has begun to worry.

They’d ended up together on Titan, battling Thanos, and after Quill’s slip up, they’d been forced to watch as the mad man disappeared.

And then everyone else had disappeared too, in clouds of ash.

He’d watched Bucky turn to ash beside him, seen the look of horror on Peter’s face as Tony had disappeared, shared in his grief as they escaped from the crumbling planet and careened onto the cold black of space.

They’re the only two left from Titan; lonely survivors of a genocide with no way to know how Earth fared and very likely, no way home.

Dispair curls into his chest and he stumbles in his descent, clutching a tree as he gasps for air, tears blurring his vision.

Gone…they’re all _gone_ and he has no idea how to fix it.

He weeps then, sobbing on his knees, forehead pressed to the rough bark of the tree, heaving sobs shaking his shoulders until his tears run their course and his eyes feel gritty and raw. His chest shudders as he breathes unevenly, rising to his feet.

His steps are slow, weaving and winding back down to the beach and when he sees Peter awake and sitting up on the shimmering black sand his heart soars, elation leaving him lightheaded.

Sprinting over he crashes to his knees and drags Peter in for a rough hug that’s returned almost immediately. Fingers grasp at the back of his uniform and Peter’s hot breath on his neck is shaky; he realizes they’re both crying, a dizzying mix of relief and grief shaking them.

Eventually he pulls back and manages a weak smile, large hand cupping Peter’s cheek as he assesses the younger man for injury. Peter sighs and leans into it, smiling weakly at him in return, his warm whiskey eyes steady on Steve’s face.

“My healing factor took care of the worst of it,” he tells Steve and relief shoots through him; he nods and runs his hands absently over the younger man, reassuring himself that Peter is all in one piece.

“Thank god,” he murmurs, forcing himself to pull his hands away, the urge to hold Peter close, to reassure himself that the boy is okay is nearly overpowering.

That night they crawl into the remains of the ship to sleep, seeking shelter from a storm that rattles the steel walls and lashes rain against the shattered windows, the steady dripping of rain oddly soothing.

Steve wakes sometime in the night to a low, broken sound and leans up to peer through the gloom to where Peter is curled in on himself, shaking and twitching. Without thought he throws an arm out and loops it around slim hips to pull Peter back against his chest.

Adjusting the thin blankets they’ve scrounged a little tighter around them, Steve lays and watches Peter sleep; he needs far less rest than the boy does, so he’ll stand watch, ward away the shadows in Peter’s mind and keep him safe.

It’s then, in the dark and the storm, that he allows himself to think the truth; they’re never going home.

————

Days slip into weeks, tallied carefully with marks etched into the hull of the ship. Peter and Steve drag all the essentials into the remains of the cockpit and take stock of food, water, weapons and other supplies.

They find bundles of clothing and set aside their suits, silently acknowledging that Spiderman and Captain America have no use here in a world without people. Here they are just Steve Rogers and Peter Parker, humans trapped in an alien world with no way home.

Peter tinkers with the electronics on the ship, but there’s no power left, so it’s mostly an exercise in futility; a way to learn the secrets of a dead ship. He has an idea for using the ocean water to power the ship, but for now it’s nothing more than an idea.

Steve has floated the idea that they repurpose the ship and build a shelter, but agreeing feels like accepting that this place is their new home.

That they’ll never go back to earth, never make it _home_.

Weeks slip into months and Peter manages to create a water pump to power the ship, sharing a bright and eager grin with Steve the night he gets it working. The older man throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him close, seemingly oblivious to the blush that rises on Peter’s cheeks at the proximity.

He’d quickly come to realize his little crush on Steve wasn’t so little, and as forced proximity and time pushed them together again and again, he had the terrifying realization that it wasn’t going away, it was deepening.

When Steve compliments him his cheeks burn and his heart aches longingly. Every touch; and oh, how Steve is so generous with them; knuckles to his cheek, fingertips skimming down his arm, a firm hand on his shoulder, it makes his pulse thrum till he’s breathless.

He knows there’s no hope though, he’s only 17 and Steve is, well, over a hundred by most measures; an adult who wouldn’t want anything to do with a kid were the circumstances different.

So he shoves his desire and affection down, aches when Steve lays by him at night, just out of reach, breaths soft and regular and reassuring.

Peter never knew a heart could break from loneliness when the person it loved was within grasp, but he feels it in every breath he takes.

————

They’ve been here for seven months, by Steve’s count, and Peter has finally agreed to dismantle the ship in favor of creating a shelter. It takes long days of planning; Steve sketches out his idea with a pen found in the ship, explaining to Peter how he imagines making this work and slowly, they form a blueprint.

He forms an axe from a shard of metal from the ship, and though it bends out of shape after he’s cut down half a dozen trees, it’s not hard to create another. It’s sweaty, back breaking work, cutting and hauling the trees, but Peter never complains, just helps him drag the trees to the small clearing at the edge of the jungle.

They work together to cut and shape the wood, the skeleton of the house forming within just a few days. Peter salvages from the ship and they bind the beams together with bands of metal, bent into place by their shared strength.

Days slip by as he and Peter labor, the walls and floor taking shape slowly. Eventually all that remains is the roof and he watches as Peter climbs up and together they lay the large sheets of metal over the timber frame, sealed into place with a laser from Peter’s suit.

The skeleton of the ship lays on the beach, stripped of every usable part and supply, an eerie reminder that they are here now, forever.

Peter rebuilds the water pump and uses it to power lights within the house, the radio system from the ship powered but silent. He wonders sometimes if there’s anyone left in the universe to hear a distress call.

Or perhaps they’re all alone.

The night they finish the house Peter wakes him in the night, shaking and screaming. It’s been weeks since his nightmares were last this bad—they’d stopped laying so close but now he hurries across the smal expanse of the house, pushes aside the tattered cloth that serves as a privacy barrier and crouches down, frowning as Peter thrashes and moans.

He hesitates a moment and then lifts Peter, carries him to his own bed made of cushions from the ship, palm fronds and blankets and lays them down together. Peter curls into his chest, crying softly, his soft sobs tearing Steve’s heart apart.

Running his fingers through wind tousled curls, he murmurs soft comforting things to Peter till he calms, face pressed into Steve’s throat. He can feel Peter’s hot, uneven breaths and doesn’t pause the circles he’s rubbing into his back, presses down more firmly instead and smiles faintly when Peter shudders and relaxes into him.

“Thank you.”

Peter’s voice is hoarse and low, but the hand he presses to Steve’s chest is firm, a steady pressure that pushes him back so Peter can roll away. His arms release the younger man unwillingly, an ache to hold him close making his lungs hurt as he watches Peter wipe at his eyes as he lurches to his feet.

“You don’t have to go,” he assures Peter, holding a hand out beseechingly. His throat is thick as he stares up at the younger man, illuminated by the pale moonlight streaming in from their shabby window. Peter is all sharp lines and shadows in the eerie lighting and all Steve wants in that moment is to have him back in his arms.

Peter looks away, throat working. “I—I know.” He glances back and gives Steve a wan smile, “You snore,” he jokes weakly, “but I uh, I appreciate it.”

Steve watches him back away and then disappear behind the thin cloth barrier, some unnamed emotion choking him.

He stares up at the ceiling, hands pressed to his stomach where a knot of confusion, want and sorrow has formed. He doesn’t sleep that night, too aware of the soft breathing from the other side of the house.

————

They dance around each other now; careful with touching, smiles reserved and dimmed.

Peter hates it.

He works tirelessly on the radio while Steve spends his days hunting and mapping the island they’ve landed on. He listens as Steve reports land masses in the distance, too far to swim to, just another disappointment in a seemingly endless list.

Shivering, he pulls the blanket from his bed closer around his shoulders; it seems that they had landed in the midst of warm months—summer perhaps—but now it’s colder; cold enough he can see his breath in the mornings and he wonders how they’ll make it through the winter in their shabby little home.

While Steve is out he goes to the hot springs they discovered weeks ago, intent on washing. The hot water is delightful on his cold and chapped skin and he moans softly as he slides deeper, up to his chin.

He washes slowly, luxuriating in the warmth and by the time he’s done he’s half hard. Rolling his head back against the mossy pillow of the jungle floor surrounding the spring, he reaches down to palm himself, sighing softly as heat suffuses his skin, spreading in his stomach, crawling slowly up his spine as he strokes.

He takes his time; normally it’s rushed and secret—stolen moments when Steve is gone like this, but right now he aches for something slower, softer.

His thumb swipes over the head of his cock, a shudder running down his spine as he repeats the gesture. His other hand slides up, fingers trailing over the exposed skin of his throat and collarbones, shivering at the trail of water that falls from his fingers.

Thumb and forefinger pinch and roll a nipple and he gasps, arching into the sensation, eyes wide as he moans and shudders, repeating the action on the other. He tries to keep his mind on the sensation, away from fantasizing, because he knows what he’ll think of, _who_ he’ll imagine, but he’s weak, and eventually Steve’s bright blue eyes swim in his mind.

He imagines its Steve’s large hands on him, imagines the way they’ve easily spanned his chest and hips when Steve has touched him before. Moaning softly, he strokes harder, the new callouses on his hand heightening the sensation and if he closed his eyes, he can imagine it’s Steve’s hand on him.

“Steve,” he moans breathlessly, nipples aching from where he’s pinching and rolling them, his strokes growing sloppy as he pants, a glowing ache building in his stomach. His free hand slides down, forefinger rubbing at the furl of his hole and his breath hitches, a whine rasping in his throat as he strokes harder.

He chants Steve’s name, half a sob wracking his chest as he pushes his finger inside, gasping as his spine arches, white heat surging in his veins. He pumps it slowly while he strokes his cock, gasping nonsense, pleading for release from a man who sees him as nothing more than a friend, a kid.

Tears blur his vision as he cums, curling in on himself as his limbs tremor. Panting and weak, he cries, wondering if he’s doomed to live a lonely existence, stuck with the man he loves who thinks of him as nothing but a friend.

When he returns to the house, Steve is at the fire, roasting something over the coals. He looks up, face brightening, and Peter’s heart lurches painfully.

He turns away and goes to the radio, trying to keep his mind busy enough that he won’t imagine the look in Steve’s eyes was anything other than friendship.

————

A winter hurricane blows in; sky steel grey as Steve and Peter hurry to fortify the house. They have a supply of food and water, and the sheets of metal over the few windows they have are secure, but Steve worries still that something will go wrong.

They huddle in the house as the winds howl and Steve pulls his blanket closer, sketching yet another picture of Peter. He’s filled every scrap of paper he’s found from the ship with landscapes of this place, the faces of his fallen friends, and more often, Peter.

He hides the ones of Peter shirtless, sprawled in his bed, eyes hooded because he can’t explain them. He can’t explain(doesn’t want to?) why he keeps picturing Peter this way; limbs languid and eyes warm, tangled in Steve’s bed.

His cheeks flush as he draws it yet again; Peter, naked and barely covered by a sheet across his hips, the shadows suggesting more than the light ever could. His gaze flicks up to where Peter is, across the room, shirt pulled tight over shoulders that have tanned and broadened after nearly a year of hard labor.

Lips curling into a faint smile, he adds freckles to the cheeks, sharpens the line of the jaw and adds a curve of muscle to the thigh, hands shaking just from the suggestion of the pose he’s drawn Peter in.

The pull he feels toward Peter is like gravity, inexorable and something he can’t fight, as much as he thinks he should. He orbits Peter like a planet does a sun; bathing in his warmth and bright smile, aching to be closer, but fearing if he does, he’ll be immolated like Icarus.

He wants, and he doesn’t know how _not_ to.

The radio squawks from across the room and he glances up to find Peter tinkering with it once more. When Peter lurches to his feet and stumbles toward him, pale with shock, he’s on his feet before he realizes it. His hands land on Peter’s shoulders, pulling him close, concern twisting his gut as he lays a hand on Peter’s cheek.

“What’s wrong?” he demands, shaking the younger man gently until his gaze lifts and meets Steve’s.

“I—it works,” Peter whispers, staring at him, stunned.

There’s a moment of confusion before it hits him—“The radio?” he demands, heart lifting when Peter nods. He laughs, a soaring sensation filling his chest and he can’t help it; he draws Peter in for a firm hug, laughing and whooping as he lifts the younger man, spinning them around.

He can feel Peter laugh against him, and when he settles them back to their feet, Peter is pressed to him, staring up at him with a soft, fond smile, hands resting on Steve’s broad chest and maybe he goes a little mad for a moment, because suddenly he’s leaning down, hand curling around the nape of Peter’s neck to pull him closer and then his lips are on Peter’s and he can’t breathe.

Peter gasps into the kiss and before he can stop himself, he takes the opportunity to lick into Peter’s mouth, moaning as the younger man opens willingly. Small rough hands slide under his shirt, gripping his hips and he pulls back, sense rushing back.

Wide eyed he stares down at Peter, Peter who is his friend, whose cheeks are pink and his lips are red and swollen from Steve’s kisses and oh god, what’s he done?

“I—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” he stammers, backing away slowly.

Peter frowns at him and follows him, grabbing his wrist and tugging, just a hint of his strength preventing Steve’s retreat. The younger man steps close, hips barely brushing Steve’s as he tilts his chin to stare up at him through thick dark lashes.

“I’m not sorry,” Peter whispers, “I want you Steve. Please, don’t run away,” he pleads and each word is like a wrecking ball to Steve’s restraint, crushing every wall he’s tried to build to keep his heart safe.

He wavers for a moment before breaking; he grabs Peter’s hips and twists, turning to push him into the wall, hands bracketing his head as he kisses him desperately. Peter arches into him, fingers tangling in Steve’s shirt to pull him till there’s no space left between them.

His breathing is too loud, panting and desperate as he kisses Peter, drunk on the taste of his mouth and dizzy from the sounds the younger man makes as he nips and sucks at his plush lower lip.

Peter whines Steve’s name as he shoves a hand beneath Peter’s shirt, palm spreading over his stomach, feeling each tremble as he grinds their hips together, achy and hot and desperate. He can’t help the groan that lurches out of him as his cock slides along Peter’s, grinds down harder to hear more of the delicious whimpering moans from Peter.

He lifts Peter easily, tugging off the younger man’s shirt before pressing him back to the wall, hips rolling together over and over again. Peter whines and arches into him, shaking as Steve leaves teeth marks and bruises on his graceful neck, drunk on the taste and sound of Peter.

His head spins as he grinds his cock into Peter, breathless as he imagines what it would be like to press into him, watch Peter fall apart under him, and he shudders, gasping against Peter’s throat as heat crawls up his spine.

“Please! Steve! ‘M close!” Peter cries, whining and grinding into him, shuddering as Steve growls and bites his throat, a groan of his own erupting as he feels Peter cum, keening as he spills in his pants. Steve grunts and ruts harder, the sharp gasps from Peter as he’s pushed into overstimulation making his hands shake, and then he’s coming too.

 _Peter, so good, Peter_ he pants against his throat, gasping as his body aches and shudders.

Peter’s fingers tangle in his hair and tug his head up for a sloppy, desperate kiss. Steve moans softly and spins them away from the wall, lowering them gently to his bed where he covers Peter’s body with his, kissing him slow and sweet.

He strips their remaining clothes off and pulls Peter close, smiling as the younger man hitches his hip up, tucking a foot behind Steve’s thigh to hold him close as they kiss. When he pulls away for a breath, Peter smiles dazedly from beneath him, hair a mess, lips shiny and red and Steve trembles with the urge to spread him out and take him apart.

He’s never felt this way before; shaky and hot and possessive, hungry for the sounds Peter makes and desperate for his kisses.

Peter lifts a hand and cups his cheek, smiling softly, “You know, I’m both seventeen and superpowered. I’ve got almost zero refractory period,” he says teasingly and Steve can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him.

Head falling to Peter’s shoulder, he laughs, feeling lighter and freer than he has in so long. When he props himself up, still grinning, Peter smiles softly, affection in his gaze as he runs his fingers over the beard on Steve’s chin.

They kiss again, slower this time and when he feels Peter harden against his thigh, he trails kisses down till he can take him in his mouth, groaning when Peter shouts and twines his fingers in Steve’s hair.

He sucks him off, swallowing the bittersweet taste and then kisses his way back up, dizzy with affection as Peter clings to him. When Peter pushes him back and reciprocates, he sees stars; the vision of Peter’s lips spread wide around his cock seared into his memory.

After, they lay together, sweaty and content for the moment. He gets coconut water and dried meat for them and pulls Peter against him, lips pressing to his hair as Peter tells him about all the people he misses; MJ, Ned, May, Tony.

Steve tells him about growing up in the Depression, about his mother and Bucky, about getting beat up in alleys and going to war and eventually they don’t need to talk anymore, trading words for kisses.

He opens Peter slowly, licking him soft and loose before he uses an oil derived from the coconuts to turn him soft and sweet, sharp kisses to Peter’s thighs as he spreads him with his fingers.

Peter sobs and whines, shaking as Steve takes his time, crooning soft words.

_Good boy Peter, my sweet fella, you’re so beautiful_

_Steve Steve Steve_ Peter chants, _please please please_

He’s shaking, scared and euphoric as he presses into Peter, a low groan ripping from his chest as Peter whines high and sharp, head thrown back in ecstasy. His cock jolts against his stomach as Steve eases in, drooling with each slow roll of Steve’s hips.

 _Beautiful baby, you’re so good my sweet fella_ he croons, tears in his eyes as he rolls his hips and delicious heat engulfs him over and over again.

Peter clings to him, nails digging into his skin, eyes hooded and dazed as he moans and gasps, rolling his hips to meet Steve’s thrusts. He knows when the head of his cock drags over that sensitive spot inside Peter because the boy tenses and wails, coming after just a few thrusts against it.

Steve slows his hips and leans in to kiss Peter, panting against his lips, struggling against the urge to thrust into that heat, holding himself back in favor of slow sweet kisses. Peter moans against his lips, hitching breaths as Steve starts rocking again, giving him time to ease down from his high.

When Peter starts rocking into his thrusts he quickens, heat burning low and hot in his gut, and he buries his face in Peter’s throat, groaning when he cums half a minute later. He keeps his thrusts shallow, the stimulation just shy of too much, just enough to keep him hard.

Peter pushes at his shoulder and he pulls back so he can see him, heart lurching at the sight. Lips slick and red, cheeks pink and eyes bright, Peter looks utterly debauched.

“Wanna ride you,” Peter gasps and Steve groans because, shit, that sounds so good. Nodding effusively, he leans in for a kiss, both men gasping for breath for a few minutes before Steve rolls, taking Peter with him.

He watches through hooded lids as Peter sinks down on him, mouth falling open around a moan, nails digging into Steve’s chest as he rolls his hips and sinks down further.

“S-so full,” Peter gasps, sliding his hands down to lace his fingers with Steve’s, holding tight as he begins riding Steve in earnest. Breathy moans fill the air as the hurricane wails outside, lashing at the walls of their little home, the tempest outside fading to nothing more than white noise.

They move together, bodies slick with sweat, hands clinging tightly together until Peter shatters apart above him, eyes locked on Steve’s, gasping his name as Steve thrusts into him, the wet clutch of his body sending Steve crashing headlong into his own release.

For a long time they don’t speak; Peter lays limp and content on his chest, breathing unsteadily in his ear while Steve smiles and paints his back with his fingers, happier than he’s been in a very long time.

They sleep and eat and sometime in the night Steve rolls over and Peter arches back against bim, murmuring his name in a sweet sleepy voice that has him hard in moments. He slicks himself and spreads Peter’s cheeks, groans when he sees he’s still loose and wet from earlier and then pushes in, shuddering and moaning.

He pins Peter beneath him and fucks him with slow lazy rolls of his hips, watching his cock spread Peter open, shiny and wet, driving into slick heat that drives them both crazy till he gets a hand on Peter’s cock and strokes him until they both cum.

Limbs tangled together, they stay in their cocoon for three days, and when they wake on the fourth, the sun is shining outside.

He leaves Peter to sleep, pausing at the doorway to watch him sleep a moment; naked and flushed, hair messy and content smile on his lips, secure in what has become _their_ bed.

He hunts and prepares the meat and when Peter emerges looking sleepy and pink, he can’t help but draw him in for a long, lingering kiss. They go together to the hot spring and bathe, trading kisses and hand jobs, stumbling through the jungle on the way back, laughing and touching and teasing.

Peter works on the radio some more and records a looping message that he’s sure someone will hear, calling for help.

Their days are spent in lazy pleasure, kissing and touching and fucking, and then, one day, a year and a half after their crash, a ship breaks atmosphere and lands on the beach.

They pull on their old uniforms, warily watching the ship, and when the doors slide open and figures emerge, the shield drops from his numb fingers.

Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Thor…they’ve come.

They’ve come.

He isn’t aware he’s crying until Peter takes his hand and reaches up to wipe them away, his own cheeks shining.

As the ships lifts off, Peter presses into his side, leaning his head against Steve’s chest. They stare silently as their home fades away, and when it’s nothing more than a glowing dot in the distance, Peter takes his hand and tugs, smiling up at him.

“Come lay by me,” he whispers, pulling Steve into the bunk they’re sharing, closing the door quietly behind them.

They strip and slide together beneath the too soft sheets, clinging together in the unfamiliar silence. Peter kisses his jaw and sighs softly. “We’re going to get them back,” he whispers, parroting what Thor and Natasha has said upon their arrival.

He nods, but he doesn’t really know how to say what’s in his heart. He rolls toward Peter, laying hip to hip and cups his cheek gently, throat thick.

“I…as long as I have you, as long as you’re here, I have what I need,” he whispers hoarsely, feeling stripped bare, every shield and barrier between them finally gone.

Peter’s eyes widen before joy spreads across his face and he half laughs, half sobs, leaning in to kiss Steve recklessly. Fingers tangle in hair and limbs slide together and Peter laughs again, lips against his as he whispers.

“I’m never going anywhere,” Peter promises, “I’m yours.”

They shed tears and wear smiles and eventually, they fall asleep, laying here, together.

Whatever events lie on the horizon, they’ll face them together; the sun and his lover, shining and golden, unstoppable.


End file.
